


When I thought about Home.

by Michaelssw0rd



Series: 30 prompts. [10]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slow Dancing, Yes you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: Fluff, and slow dancing, and more fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talkingtothesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/gifts).



> A very very very happy birthday to you!  
> Alright, because I have been listening and humming to this song for DAYS now, i don't think the fic can be enjoyed properly if you don't listen to it first.  
> Here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fL46afjznwA  
> You will thank me for this! 
> 
> PS: It also goes with my prompt of Home, so there.

_I still owe money, to the money, to the money I owe,  
the floors are falling out from, everybody I know._

For a change, this was a quiet day. It was afternoon and they had received no new numbers yet. They were doing what they always ended up doing on days like these. Harold was coding, catching up on their multiple cover identities, and John was sitting nearby, with half a dozen guns disassembled on a low table in front of him, going through the methodical process of cleaning them.

An hour ago Harold had suddenly scooted his chair back, and turned around to look at John and say, “I wonder if our efforts have finally decreased the number of criminals in the city.”

John had raised the gun he was disassembling, and faux pointed it at Harold’s knees, making a shooting gesture and going, “I don’t know, but I am sure they have definitely reduced the number of criminal _kneecaps_ in the city.”

“Very amusing Mr. Reese.”

“I thought so too,” John smirked.

John looked through the barrel of his large bore rifle, and then took a rod and patch and cleaned it, all the while humming under his breath _, I was carried to Ohio on a swarm of bees_ , taking a bore brush and running it through the barrel, _I still owe money, to the money, to the money I owe_ , alternating between the two before deciding it was done and picking up the pistol, to repeat the process with it.

 _I still owe money_ , put a drop of gun oil on the strip of cloth _, to the money_ , push it in the barrel, _to the money_ , in an out till it was shining _, I owe_. He was lubricating the moving parts when he heard Harold chuckle, and looked up in surprise.

“What?” he asked, defensive.

“You’re singing.” He pointed out, and John was stunned. Yes he had been, since morning.

“It’s the bloody song they were playing in coffee-shop. Can’t seem to get it out of my mind.”

“It’s just… I have never heard you sing before.”

Reese put down the gun he was holding, picked the next and gently ran the cloth over it, and pondered over the thought. “I guess I am just-” he stopped, rolling the next word on his tongue and stunned by how naturally it fit; how true it was, "- happy. I am happy.” He repeated in awe.

Harold could not hide his wide smile at that, bright enough to shame the sun. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I used to be a shower singer,” he mused, “terrible, atrocious shower singer. Somewhere along the way… I just… stopped.”

“I am glad,” Harold said, overcome with emotions, his voice thick.

John put his gun down, and got up to lean over the coder. When Harold looked up at him, he cupped his face and darted down quickly to softly kiss him. Leaning back and rubbing his thumb on Harold’s cheek he said, “Thank you.”

Harold just raised his eyebrow in question. “For this. For giving me a job, a life, a purpose… someone to love.” Harold’s ears tinged red at that, his eyes warm as he looked at John sincerely.

“The sentiment is wholeheartedly reciprocated,” he said, with conviction.

John smiled, small and content. Finch nodded in understanding, and then got back to typing. They were past the stage where they questioned each other’s affections, but Reese doubted the exquisite joy caused by the reminder would ever diminish. He leaned back against the table, all loose limbed, and stared at the man with hooded eyes for a long moment. The song was stuck on repeat in his head, and he could not stop humming it.

_And I owe money to the money, to the money I owe,  
I never thought about love, when I thought about home._

“What is it that you’re singing anyway?” Harold asked, breaking him out of the reverie.

“Oh… It’s a song by the Nationals.”

“Bloodbuzz?”

“I think so… I didn’t know you were a fan of anything that’s not screeching cats Finch.”

“I enjoy good music Mr. Reese. The Nationals qualify as good music.”

John grinned. He loved it when Harold got defensive about his love for opera. But also, even though he had all of Harold, had seen him naked and his most vulnerable, falling apart and coming back together, he was still greedy. For everything Harold was willing to give, and more. Finding small things about his lover, unexpected snippets from an enigma he will never stop being fascinated by, never failed to bring him immense satisfaction.

“So you know the song?”

“Obviously,” he scoffed, and John had a brilliant idea.

“Let’s dance Harold.”

“What?” The older man sputtered.

“Dance.”

“Are you out of your mind?” He protested, but John ignored him, fiddling with his phone and opening the YouTube app.

Soon, the drums and the beginning notes of the song started,

_Stand up straight at the foot of your love_   
_I'll lift my shirt up_   
_Stand up straight at the foot of your love_   
_I'll lift my shirt up_

“Come on Harold. Humor me.” He turned Harold’s chair to face himself, and slowly grasped his both hands.

“Mr. Reese I…”

“Please…” He widened his eyes and swayed his hips slightly, pulling on the hands gently. To his delight Harold let him pull him up to his feet.

_I was carried to Ohio in a swarm of bees  
I never married but Ohio don't remember me _

“I am afraid you are forgetting my injuries make it impossible for me to take part in any such activities.” Even though he let himself be led into John’s personal space, let John press them together, he still felt compelled to protest.

“It’s not a test of competence, just… relax Finch. Trust me,” John murmured in his ear, as he guided one of his hand to lie on his shoulder, and grasped the other in his right gently.

_Lay my head on the hood of your car_   
_I take it too far_   
_Lay my head on the hood of your car_   
_I take it too far_

“Harold, are you… blushing?” John asked, bewildered, as he started rocking their upper bodies together gently, wanting to throw his head back and laugh with sheer joy when Harold swayed his own just so.

“I didn’t realize how… suggestive, this song was.”

“You want me to spread myself on your car for you? You need only ask.”

“Do shut up John.”

“Liar,” he breathed, and took a tentative step right, noting how Harold followed just as the chorus started.

_I still owe money to the money to the money I owe_   
_I never thought about love when I thought about home_   
_I still owe money to the money to the money I owe_   
_The floors are falling out from everybody I know_

Stepping to the right, and to the left, transferring his weight back and forth and soon they were slow dancing, moving around in a slow circle around the room. Harold’s face was pinched, and he was concentrating on the steps so John started singing along the next part,

 _I'm on a bloodbuzz_  
_Yes I am_  
 _I'm on a blood...buzz_

“Come on Harold, sing along.” Harold looked at him in annoyance for just a second but then, to his started delight, he did.

 _I'm on a bloodbuzz_  
_God I am_  
 _I'm on a blood...buzz_

John quieted his voice down a little to listen to the miracle that was Harold singing, not knowing if he would ever listen to it again. The tune was off, discordant, and awkward. And yet, was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

_I was carried to Ohio in a swarm of bees  
I never married but Ohio don't remember me_

Finch had a tendency to stress on the unexpected words and John basked in how off-key it was. To spice things up, he put some distance between them, removing the hand from Finch’s back and raising the one joining them both. Harold stopped mid-sentence and looked at him as if saying _‘Really_ ’. John grinned wide and shrugged.

He outright threw his head back and laughed, when Harold rolled his eyes and obliging turned around on his spot in an awkward shuffle. He wondered how his heart was able to contain so much elation and not burst.

_I still owe money to the money to the money I owe  
I never thought about love when I thought about home_

Harold had stopped singing, so he let his voice go louder, and deeper, wanting Harold to know how much he meant the last line, bringing him close to his body again, his hand going to his partner’s back to stabilize him and support his weight.

_I still owe money to the money to the money I owe  
the floors are falling out from everybody I know_

And then because Harold was humoring him today, he decided to push his luck and leaned forward, his voice gone sultry. He tightened his hold on Harold’s back, taking more and more of his weight as he dipped him backwards. Harold’s eyes were wide, but other than letting out a surprised squawk as he lifted one of his legs he let himself be manhandled into a dip. There was an amused glint in his eyes too, which John hoped meant that he was enjoying himself at least a fraction of how much John was.

 _I'm on a bloodbuzz_  
_Yes I am_  
 _I'm on a blood...buzz_

His voice was a full of promise, as seductive as he could make it. He moved his face until he was breathing right into Harold’s ear, whispering hot and low,

_I'm on a bloodbuzz_   
_God I am_   
_I'm on a blood...buzz_

Finch’s shoulders were shaking and when he tilted them back up Harold hid his face in John’s chest. He panicked for a moment before realizing the genius was laughing. Reese dropped the hand he was holding and sighed.

“I – I- am sorry. I really am.” Were these _giggles_? John was too amazed to be even properly fond. “It’s just… you.” The shaking shoulders stopped for a brief moment before starting again, and it took a few seconds before Harold could continue, “Talking about mass homicide and making it sound like seduction is an skill only a few can claim to have Mr. Reese.” Harold pulled himself back slightly and looked at him, his eyes glistening with tears of mirth and fondness, “and I have to say, you are a master at the art.”

Speechless, he stared as Harold brought his hand up to his mouth to stifle another few chuckles into it, and then overcome with the unnameable feelings in his chest he grabbed Harold’s face and smashed their lips together.

“I love you,” he breathed out, worshipful, when they parted.

“And I you.” Harold caressed his cheek delicately, and John was only human. Humans were made to suffer. He would combust with so much love burning through his veins. So much happiness.

“Are you nearly done with playing with your toys?” Finch wrinkled his nose as he side eyed his cleaning table before looking back at John.

“My toys help keep us alive.” He felt compelled to say, too fond for it to be a protest. “But yeah. Nearly done.”

“Put them away, while I finish up quickly. And then, let’s go home.”

“I already am home,” Reese said, and only after the words left his mouth did he realize how true they were.

He wasn’t talking about the library, but you could say it was home of a sort. Because library was where Harold usually was. It wasn’t about the place at all.

_I never thought about love, when I thought about home._

And weren’t these words truer than anything John had ever felt. In all honesty, he had not thought about either of them in a long time. Soldiers don’t think about love. Killers don’t have a home. But Harold- his soul ached with how wonderful the man was- had given him a home first, somewhere to belong, and then went ahead and upped that by giving him love too.

John’s eyes stung, so he bent slightly to press his forehead with Finch’s and closed his eyes. Harold’s arm went around him and held him for a few long moments. He waited until John got his emotions under control before quipping lightly.

“As much as I am pleased with the sentiment… I was hoping for a place with a proper bed.”

John laughed. He couldn’t help it. The man had a dry wit that he had come to cherish.

“I thought we decided on hood of the car.” John added, and felt Harold’s exasperated huff of breath on his face.

He indulged in one lingering kiss, before disentangling and packing up as quickly as he could without damaging the weapons. The quicker this got done, the quicker he could take Harold to bed.

One thing was for sure though… this song, the last five minutes, were never going to leave his head.


End file.
